


saioumaweek2020

by kami (slowburnsunsets)



Series: oumasai AUs [4]
Category: New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Alternate Universe - No Killing Game (Dangan Ronpa), Birthday, Established Relationship, First Dates, Flirting, Flower Parks, Fluff, Light Angst, M/M, Oma Kokichi's Birthday, Phantom Thief AU, Slow Dancing, coffee shop AU, pregame au, saioumaweek2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-22
Updated: 2020-06-27
Packaged: 2021-03-03 18:54:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 16,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24850402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slowburnsunsets/pseuds/kami
Summary: a small compilation of my entries for #saioumaweek2020!!
Relationships: Oma Kokichi/Saihara Shuichi
Series: oumasai AUs [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1671091
Comments: 26
Kudos: 125
Collections: SaiOuma Week 2020





	1. day 1 - birthday

**Author's Note:**

> hoping i can get these out on time!! enjoy <3
> 
> [my twitter](https://twitter.com/slowburnsunsets)
> 
> [saioumaweek2020](https://twitter.com/saioumaweek/status/1267515484548857863?s=20)

There are a lot of things that Ouma lies about. Many of these things being small, trivial details — his favorite foods, his movie preferences, his hobbies, whether he puts cereal or milk first (he puts cereal first obviously because he's not a heathen, but if anyone asks him, he says milk first solely to get a rise out of whoever he's talking to), all small things that don't really matter anyway. Most of these lies go onto the group's collective _Definitely (Not) Real Things About Ouma Kokichi_ list.

There are many things about Ouma that mostly everyone is fine without knowing the truth behind. Well, mostly everything except for one little secret: his birthday. No one knows when it is, so much so that alongside the _Definitely (Not) Real Things About Ouma Kokichi_ list, there is one other thing that's gained a notorious reputation — the _Ouma Kokichi Birthday Bet._

Any attempt that his friends have made in trying to figure out when his birthday is have always resulted in nothing. He always answers with seven-hundred pounds worth of lies anytime he's asked. It's a secret that's gathered so much infamy that it's turned into a contest of some sorts. Whoever can figure out (or guess correctly) Ouma's birthday gets a prize ("A well-deserved prize for one of humanity's strangest mysteries," as Shinguuji has put it). 

Even so, no one has been able to make headway in this enigma. Any clues Ouma has given them are proven to be useless or untrustworthy, his dates jumping from April 4th to August 7th, October 22nd to December 19th. First he's a summer baby, then whoops! That was a lie! He's actually a winter baby. But nope, another lie! He just really likes the cold season (just kidding)!

Anyway, it's a virtually impossible-to-win bet. Therefore, Ouma thoroughly enjoys watching everyone try (and fail) to determine the truth.

No one has a single clue when the day before it rolls around. Not even Saihara, for all of his deductions and reasoning, can figure it out.

One would think that dating a detective means that secrets amongst them are little to nonexistent. But alas, even Ouma has been able to allude the truth from Saihara. It's not that he doesn't trust him with this information or anything like that. Rather, it just never came up in conversation (mostly due to Ouma's skills in evading personal questions about himself) until it eventually turned into a game between them. It's the one game that Ouma refuses to lose.

Point is, Ouma's birthday remains a mystery to everyone, including his own boyfriend. And that's how he finds himself sitting alone in their apartment — Saihara having been gone for two weeks on a trip to the Continent after taking a case abroad to help his uncle.

Naturally, Ouma knows that it's technically his own fault that Saihara won't be back to celebrate his birthday with him. But does that mean he's gonna complain? _Absolutely_ , that means he's gonna complain! Because damn it, isn't Saihara a detective? Isn't he supposed to have some super intuition that should at least tell him, ' _hey, your boyfriend's getting old, so get over here before he practically withers to death at the ripe basically-a-raisin age of twenty_ '??

He whines to himself in annoyance as he walks circles around in the living room. It's not like he's disappointed, alright? He's not! It's not like he was hoping somehow Saihara would miraculously at _least_ be back in time, not that he would actually know when to come back for his birthday, because Ouma is a certified liar but . . . ugh, aw man. Whatever. It is what it is.

Eventually he grows tired of just pacing around the apartment in defeat, so he makes his way to the bedroom and flops backwards onto the bed. He doesn't even bother to turn on any of the lights. Instead, he stares up at the ceiling, thinking about how he _totally_ does not secretly wish that the others (especially _not_ Saihara!!) knew his birthday is tomorrow. And soon, he drifts off to sleep.

—

He wakes up to the small _ping_ from his phone. His eyes feel heavy and most of his mind is hazy from exhaustion as he reaches around aimlessly for his phone. The noise had come from a notification courtesy of his calendar alerting him of his special day. His eyes slide over to the time — midnight on the dot. He notes to himself to change the settings of his alerts later, when his eyes don't feel like they're burning at the sight of the bright screen.

He doesn't bother to move from laying on his side, too tired to try. His eyes, however, do gaze over at the door as it creaks open just a bit. A head pokes through the opening, looking around before noticing Ouma.

"Can I come in?" he asks.

"Mmm, I dunno," Ouma hums, "what's the password?"

Saihara quirks an eyebrow. "There's a password now?"

"Mmhmmm," the liar answers, the more enthusiastic he tries to sound, the more his words slur with sleepiness, "and you have to answer if you want to come in."

"Ah." Saihara pauses for a moment, probably wondering why he has to give a password to enter his own bedroom, but it's his own fault for being polite and asking if you ask Ouma. ". . . Would a bribe work?"

"I can't believe Saihara-chan's willing to cheat his way in!" Ouma gasps half-heartedly, "I'm so disappointed! Really!"

"I'll take that as a yes." Saihara enters quietly and closes the door behind him, the light from the hallway disappearing and instead being replaced by the moonlight cascading through the window's curtains.

"Shumai's such a con artist."

"I learned from the best," is all Saihara responds with. He makes his way over to the bed, only stopping in his route to turn on the miniature lamp that sits on their desk (it's really just a nightlight, but Ouma, despite all his pride in maintaining his childlike personality, refuses to call it that). "Sorry for getting here so late. It was the last flight I could catch."

"You really owe me that bribe now! Yuppers, for making me feel soooo unloved." Ouma offers him another cheeky but tired grin.

The mattress weighs down a bit as Saihara sits on the other side of the bed, Ouma's back facing him. He runs his fingers along his arm soothingly. "Tomorrow. It's late now," Saihara murmurs quietly.

Ouma pouts, but closes his eyes in agreement (or maybe just in exhaustion). He feels the mattress shift around again as Saihara moves.

The detective hover's over Ouma's side and presses a kiss to his forehead. "Happy birthday, Kokichi."

With that, Ouma dozes off again.

—

(The realization that Saihara figured out his birthday and didn't coincidentally come home at the same time doesn't hit him until the next morning when he wakes up. He walks into the living room and finds a stack of presents, all signed by his friends and addressed on random dates ranging from the beginning of the year to days that haven't even taken place yet, presumably because they still haven't a clue on his real birthdate. Beside the pile of gifts sits Saihara, who in his own hands, is holding a little cake on a plate. Ouma smiles, because maybe, just maybe, letting someone know his birthday isn't so bad after all.)


	2. day 2 - college AU / fashion / first date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Saihara and Ouma's first date, and neither of them know what to wear (and then promptly regret asking for help from their friends).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry if there's any mistakes in this chapter! i usually edit my writing on my own, except i didn't realize i sat in front of an air freshener and it ended up spraying me in the face so im currently partially blind and can't revise properly, whoops lol. but anyway, this is like 80% crackfic and 20% fluff so i hope u enjoy!!
> 
> [my twitter](https://twitter.com/slowburnsunsets)
> 
> [saioumaweek2020](https://twitter.com/saioumaweek/status/1267515484548857863?s=20)

"Aw, really? But you look good."

"Uh-huh. And people call _me_ a liar."

Ouma really has no clue how his life has come to this. This is probably one of the most questionable days he has ever had. And that's saying a lot, because there are plenty of questionable things Ouma has both seen and done (his friends bearing witness to a majority of these). But this is, by far, the most questionable indeed.

"I'm not lying," Amami assures, sitting forward in the chair, "I'm sure you pull it off very well."

Ouma glances over at the floor-lenth mirror. Truthfully, Ouma is, and probably always will be, a shameless person—able to take pride in many things that most people can't, or able to bear more burdens than most. Even if it's something even he is embarrassed of, he can tough it out so long as he wants to. Ergo, it takes a lot to bruise Ouma's ego. And yet, he still finds himself deadpanning at the sight he sees in his reflection. "I look like a doll that got tossed between every single one of your sisters and none of them could decide what I should wear."

"I told you I wouldn't be the best to ask for help." Amami shakes his head. "I'm only good at outfits for pretend-dress up."

Ouma whines and shakes his arms around. "I jingle when I move! That is _not_ good, Amami-chan!"

"Alright, alright. Just settle down. I'll call reinforcements."

—

"Um, are you _sure_ this is the right outfit to wear?"

Saihara's definitely no fashion expert (apparently, that title belongs to one of the upper classmen—a girl with two blonde pigtails and a knack for criticizing the hell out of anyone she deems unfashionable), but he's having second thoughts on these clothes. He's starting to regret asking for help from his friends, partially from this and partially from the fact that he, a grown adult, basically needs advice on what to wear. He might as well hang up a sign on his door that says, ' _STARVING COLLEGE KID. PLEASE (hit me with a car) HELP_ '.

"Relax, Saihara-kun," Akamatsu assures from his right side, running a lint roller up his sleeve, "you look just fine."

Really? Because he hasn't been allowed to look at the mirror in the last hour at all and at this point, he's starting to really get concerned.

"Yeah, bro!" Momota encourages from his left side, flashing him a thumbs up, "even if you didn't look good, it's all about confidence! You just gotta own it!"

Saihara turns to his last chance at getting an honest opinion. "Harukawa-san?"

Harukawa hardly even spares a glance up from where she sits in the desk chair. "It's fine."

Saihara feels his face fall into an expression similar to being miffed.

"HaruMaki! We're supposed to be boosting his ego!" Momota reminds.

"So you _both_ think I look bad?"

"That's not what they're saying!" Akamatsu assures, "right, guys?" From behind Saihara, she waves her hands around to gesture for the others to say 'no'.

"No way, Shuichi!"

"Yes."

"Even if you _did_ look bad—which you don't—what's the worst Ouma can do?" Akamatsu inquires. Three skeptical expressions all stare back at her and she gives in. ". . . Yeah, you're right."

Saihara sighs and shakes his head. The first thing he's telling himself to do once this is all over is to find more (fashionable) friends.

—

"The fuck you need my help with?" Iruma crosses her arms and raises an eyebrow.

"We were hoping you'd be able to help us," Amami explains, gesturing to Ouma, "Ouma-kun here has a very important date tonight, and we're having a bit of a . . . fashion crisis."

"Ha! That lying little abortion needs help dressin' up?" she snorts.

"No way!" Ouma refutes, currently curled up in the opposite corner of the room like a cat who knows it's about to be sprayed with water, "I am not letting _that_ get anywhere near me!"

"Come on, give her a chance," Amami bargains.

"Give her a chance to do what? Make me look like a stripper? Nuh-uh! Nooo way!"

"Ahaha, our Ouma-kun is such a kidder," Amami says, putting on a ' _please, we are desperate_ ' smile, "so, will you help us out?"

"Fashion advice? That shit's easy! But what's in it for me?"

"Praise?"

". . . Alright, listen here, you lying little shit—" Iruma points at Ouma, who's mumbling something along the lines of, 'stupid praise kinks', "—you hear that? It's gonna be my gorgeous brain that saves you, so be grateful!"

"I am never forgiving you for this, Amami-chan."

—

"Do I have to go out in public like this?"

"It's just to go and see Shirogane-san so she can help," Akamatsu tells him.

Saihara would probably feel a lot less insecure walking around outside if not for the fact that he looks like an extra in an early Western 1930's black-and-white movie. Yes, little bow tie and fedora and all.

Just as they start to near the end of the hallway, one of the dorm doors slams open with such aggression that it slams into Saihara's head and sends him stumbling backwards. His friends manage to avoid being taken down with him, the only exception being Momota, who only barely gets clipped by him. 

Out from the room comes barreling Ouma, frantically trying to make a book for it as Iruma follows up behind him. As the two of them battle out their scuffle (Iruma trying to rope the smaller boy back in via a very feathery boa, and Ouma fending her off), Amami tries his best to wrangle them back inside like an underpaid babysitter.

Amidst all the chaos, most of them are able to decipher what's going on (all except for Ouma and Saihara, who are too busy on their own accord to notice much). They're all able to come to one unsaid agreement: _do not, under any circumstances, let them see one another!!!_

Quickly, Harukawa and Akamatsu push the fedora back down onto Saihara's face, effectively pinning him down to the floor. Amami manages to yank Iruma back inside, leaving Ouma to acknowledge his chance at escaping her wrath. "I told you—hey, is that Saihara-chaaAAA—" He's cut off as Momota swiftly scoops him up and bodily throws him back inside, aided in the entire ordeal by Amami as he pulls the door shut afterwards.

The girls pull Saihara to his feet and fix his hat, already pushing him to keep going down the hallway. 

"What are you guys _doing_!" Saihara questions, more of an exclamation rather than an inquiry.

"Nothing! Now, come on."

—

"Was that Saihara-chan out there?" is the first thing that Ouma asks as he rolls onto his back, still thrown about on the ground.

"Mm, no. I'm sure you're just imagining things because you're nervous," Amami redirects, helping him up.

"I can tell when you're lying, y'know." Ouma deadpans.

"Who gives a shit about Poo-ichi being out there anyway?" Iruma deflects as well, "now c'mere! We aren't done yet!"

Ouma hopes that the walls of the dormitory are soundproof (spoiler alert: they are not) to an extent, because the scream he lets out as he narrowly avoids the same boa from earlier is something he will lie about not happening to his grave and back.

He takes off, and this time, though, Ouma _does_ indeed make it out the door and into the hallway. The others may be gone from there, but he doesn't care anymore—so long as he manages to get away from the psycho behind him who insists that disco is in fashion again. He scrambles down the dormitory corridors until he reaches the exit doors. He'd honestly rather be anywhere than here, and there's only one place that he thinks he can really go to for help at this point.

—

"Ah . . . this is . . . um—"

"—Is that makeup?"

"Isn't it marvelous?" Shirogane fawns, clasping her hands together as she admires her handiwork, "he looks just like him!"

"Who are you—"

"It's a shame that your hair is so plain short, Saihara-kun," the cosplayer sighs, a shake of her head following her words, "otherwise I'd be able to braid your hair to match. I'm afraid all my wigs are back at my old home. Oh, but maybe it's for the best. Your pale complexion might not work with Gogol-kun's white hair."

"Who—?!"

"Shirogane-san, this is a little—" Akamatsu's concerns are interrupted by Shirogane placing a hat on Saihara's head.

"—And there!" Shirogane beams, "it's on such short notice, so it's a bit plain . . . but other than that, you look just as good as his debut in chapter 57!"

" _Whose_ debut—?!"

"At least Ouma-kun and you will be matching," Harukawa offers with one of her rare teasing smiles, "as clowns together."

That's Saihara's cue to leave, regardless of what he's wearing. Because damn it, he's just going to figure it out on his own. How much time does he have until the date anyway?

"What time is it?" Saihara inquires.

"Eighteen-fifty-two."

—!

—!!!!!

—!!!!!!!!!

"I-I have to call him!" Saihara exclaims. The least he can do is call Ouma and ask to reschedule, or at least ask for a _little_ more time tonight so that he doesn't show up looking like a circus's main attraction: _The World's Most Pathetic First-Date-Apparel._

—

"Ouma-kun?" is what Toujou asks as she opens the door and finds the liar standing in front of her, dressed looking like the equivalent to a child who discovered the wonders of highlighters.

"Mooooom, I need your help," Ouma whines, glancing around, "now let me in. I have a reputation to uphold."

Toujou considers telling him that his 'reputation' consists of being a terror amongst the most oblivious of them that reside in the dormitories (especially considering she's the only one of their friend group who stays in this dormitory building, the others scattered about campus), but decides against it for now. Instead, she opens the door more and allows him to enter. The little bells that hang from his sleeves jingle with each step he takes. "You said you required my assistance with something?"

He holds up his arms to gesture to his clothes.

". . . Ah."

"I'm supposed to go out with Saihara-chan tonight! But the others apparently have zero sense of fashion at all! Seriously, how do they dress themselves everyday?" Ouma complains.

"Mmhm," she hums as she inspects the damage that's been done. She lets him complain while she figures out an idea. "And you need help getting ready for your date?"

"Yuppers. I need to look nice!" he affirms as she pulls out a box and starts searching through it, "because presentation is everything, duh. And if I look super weird, then Saihara-chan will definitely think I'm weird! And if he thinks I'm weird, then he'll never go out with me again! And then I'll be destined to die sad, old, and alooooooone."

Most people would probably question Ouma's logic. But not Toujou. No, instead, she simply offers another, "Mmhm," as she continues to find what she can use.

"I had to escape Iruma-chan and Amami-chan to get here. I hope those crazies don't know where I went."

". . . Mmhm."

—

Saihara continuously dials Ouma's number, but each time he's only met with the lines, " _You have reached the voicemail box of . . . Just kidding, it's me, Ouma! Leave a message and I'll get back to you. Or maybe I won't, who knows?_ "

Crap, crap, crap! What if Ouma's already there at the restaurant and he's just waiting on him? What if he thinks he stood him up? He wouldn't do that!! But what if Ouma thinks he would????

The dial tone rings one last time before going to voicemail yet again, and Saihara groans in defeat. "He's not answering."

"Okay, then Plan B: you go over there in person and explain," Akamatsu tells him.

"The whole point of calling was so that Ouma-kun wouldn't have to see me like this," Saihara reminds with the air of someone who is just Done With Everything.

"Yes, but that's not working, so you don't have much of a choice," she says.

"C'mon, Shuichi! If we drive there, you can get there soon enough and no strangers on the train will see you," Momota encourages, "you know what I always say!"

In unison, even Harukawa too, all three of them say the chant together—all except for Saihara, who slowly takes a deep breath and nods. "Okay, okay. Let's just go, then." They all start to rush out of Shirogane's dorm as Saihara adds, "can I least go back to my dorm and change first?"

"You wanna get there in the quickest amount of time possible?" Harukawa questions, to which he nods, and she continues, "then no, you may not. Now, come on."

As they all hurry down the hallway to the exit, Shirogane wishes them luck in the distance.

—

"And done," Toujou hums, pleased with her work.

Ouma looks down at the suit, and then raises a hand to feel the tie pulling back most of his hair. It feels strange, being this formal, but he actually figures it's probably the best thing he's worn all day, and the restaurant _is_ supposed to be really nice so . . .

"Wow," he says, messing with the cuff link, "I hate it!"

Toujou gives him a small nod, picking up on his lie. "I'm sure you do." She adjusts his tie one last time and then pats him on the shoulder. "You're all ready now."

He grins at her words. He looks around for his phone and realizes that it's not with him. Damn it. He probably left it behind at his own dorm. With that conclusion, he asks, "Hey, what time is it?"

"Nineteen-seventeen."

Holy shit—!!!

"Toujou-chan! I need you to take me there, like, right now!" She gives him a reminding look, and he adds, "Uh, pleaseee! With a cherry on top!"

—

It's 19:39 when both parties arrive at the location, each of them parking on opposite ends. The restaurant is built in one of the hilly areas, directly at the top of one. At the bottom of the land is the parking lot, wrapping around the whole way. The establishment itself is nice—floor-to-ceiling windows, neatly manicured bushes, fine dark wood walls, and lighting created only by candles and fireplaces.

Ouma's the first between the two to get up the hill. He makes a beeline for the hostess at the front, abandoning any usual tricks for simple questions on their reservations. The strange thing is, however, that she explains to him that since none of the parties showed up, it was cancelled and the spots were taken by other newcomers.

Neither of them showed up? Saihara-chan isn't here?

. . . Ah. He sees. This is probably one of those things that you always see happening in movies. What's the term again? Oh, yeah—stood up. Wow. Okay. He tells himself that he doesn't feel terrible, or disappointed. Because he's not, okay? He's not! Really, he's just—just—ugh, whatever. He doesn't even feel like lying right now.

He tries to internally tell himself some jokes, asking if this is what pathetic losers feel all the time, or more specifically, if this is how Iruma feels (or maybe that one book nerd who lives down the hall of Toujou's dorm and always rambles about some rich blonde dude on campus. Said rambles have put this guy on Ouma's Soon-To-Be-Pranked List, if only because based off her descriptions of how uptight he sounds, he's like the perfect target to mess with).

The jokes and thoughts don't really help, though. Instead, after a few moments, he realizes he's just been standing there in silence. Just when he's taking his leave, the doors fly open and hit his forehead. It's not enough to send him falling, but he does take a few steps back.

As he rubs his forehead and prepares to complain his ass off to whoever just did that, his eyes land on the person in the doorway and freezes.

—

There are a _lot_ of ways to start off a first date with someone. If you ask a few people, majority of them will probably say they've had relatively good first dates. Now, if you ask Saihara, his answer will only be— _Oh my God, I hit him with a door._

Before he can really offer any form of apology or explanation, his voice catches in his throat and he pauses. Nothing comes out as he tries to speak, just caught speechless at the sight of Ouma all dressed up and his hair pulled back. His face also starts to burn—is this normal??? He can't even process any real thoughts, most of them an incoherent jumbled mess that can really only make out, ' _Ouma . . . suit . . . ponytail . . . cute . . . going to die here._ '

There's really a lot more things Saihara should probably be focusing on; checking on Ouma after hitting him with the door, checking with the hostess to see about their reservations, focusing on notwalking any further into the restaurant while dressed like this, or even try to maintain as much dignity as he can in this situation—but _priorities._

Ouma's eyes slide their attention from Saihara to the hostess, then to the customers sitting at the nearby tables and staring with mixes of judgement and confusion, and then back to him. They both spend a few moments like that, just staring back at one another in shock until Ouma finally moves first.

With quick, quiet footsteps that derive from many years of sneaking around to create mischief, Ouma takes Saihara's hand in his own and leads him out of the restaurant without a single word.

Saihara notices Ouma wave towards something on the other side of the hill, opposite to where the others had parked. Behind him, he still feels the eyes of everyone nearby watching them through the windows, but if Ouma notices them, he doesn't acknowledge it (thank goodness, because Saihara cannot handle any more of a spotlight being put on him).

"Come on," Ouma finally says, guiding him down the pathway to the bottom of the hill where he waved at, "let's go somewhere else, yeah? I'm sure Saihara-chan is dying on the inside right now, and dying under my watch is strictly forbidden! Non non, I definitely won't allow that!"

"Y-Yeah," Saihara agrees. The sight of Ouma smiling at him should help calm him down, but instead he only feels his heart skip another beat.

(Saihara also doesn't notice when Ouma looks behind them and sticks out his tongue at everyone staring. He refuses to allow slander of Saihara's person in his presence, because if anyone's going to explain to Saihara that his fashion choices are _unique_ —read: _atrocious_ — it's going to be him!!)

—

"Soooo . . ." Ouma starts to say, finally breaking the second round of silence between them, "when were you going to tell me you're secretly a part of a circus?"

Saihara's sigh in response draws a laugh from the smaller boy.

The two of them lay on top of a car's hood (Toujou's car's hood, to be exact, because she has enough mercy in her to allow them to borrow it for the night so long as Saihara is driving), staring up at the night sky. Rather than a gradience of orange or yellow to blue, it's a pale green fading to a nearly black color, speckled with bits of white. They ended up driving to the top of a hill in the area, where beyond it is a decent view of the city.

"I promise you, this was not my idea," Saihara admits in defeat.

"I'll bet! Tell me, was it Momota-chan's idea to dress you up in bright colors like a bird trying to attract a mate?" Ouma inquires, turning his head to face him, "does that mean Saihara-chan is planning on serenading me just like a bird too?"

Saihara's face turns red, his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose in dismay. "Ouma-kun, spare me _some_ dignity."

Ouma laughs again and scoots closer. "Aww, but I like Saihara-chan like this!"

". . . You do?"

"Mmhm," Ouma affirms, wrapping his arm around Saihara's torso, "totally. It's a very nice outfit, y'know? Not everyone can pull off the merry andrew look."

Saihara deadpans and pushes him away, Ouma laughing the entire time. Even despite the joke, he can't help but smile a bit at the sight of the liar's giggling fit.

After he settles down and the two of them fall into a silence again, Saihara finally gathers his thoughts together again. "Sorry about hitting you with the door."

"Nishishi, it's fine! I just figured it was payback for me hitting _you_ with the door earlier." Ouma shrugs.

"That was _you_?!"

"Whoops! Never mind me! I have no idea what you're talking about!" Ouma retracts, flashing him one toothy grin.

Saihara laughs in slight disbelief, shaking his head. "Okay . . . then I'm sorry for ruining our date."

"Oh?"

"I was running late, and then I showed up looking like _this_ because I was in a rush and you weren't answering and basically embarrassed you in public." Saihara's ears burn at his apology, feeling even more humiliated.

Ouma raises an eyebrow. "Is Saihara-chan crazy?"

"Huh?"

"Nishishi, you're so strange, Saihara-chan. Yeah, maybe we didn't get to go to the fancy restaurant or anything, but who cares anyway? I still get to be here with you, and I'm still having fun! Plus, I know you're probably dying still from going out in public like that, and yet you still did it for me! I'm super-duper flattered!" Ouma tells him.

"Really?" Saihara feels like a weight has been lifted off his chest.

"Duh! This date wasn't ruined at all, and that's no lie.” Ouma grins. It's the same grin he usually wears when he gets into trouble and then promptly weasels out of it, but it's also his casual smile, so it's a 50/50 shot at whether it's one hundred percent true or not.

"No lie, huh?" Saihara laughs a bit. He motions with his hand and both of them sit up to move off the car's hood and back into the front seats. Toujou's car is very clean and well-kept. Nothing less expected of her, of course.

"Yup! Scout's honor!" (Ironic, because that's a lie in of itself—Ouma was never a boy scout.)

"Okay, then if we're being honest," Saihara says, sliding into the driver's seat and turning on the engine, "I _do_ think you look very nice, Ouma-kun."

"Nishishi, I know!" Ouma says this with a confident smile, but his face still turns pink a bit, "now, let's go get something to eat. I'm starving!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ; . . . yes shirogane did dress saihara up in a cosplay of nikolai gogol from bungou stray dogs LMAO / ( "chapter 57" — gogol's manga debut)
> 
> ; the original title of this work was labeled 'soigne & gallimaufry' — soigne :: possessing an aura of sophistication in dress, manner, or design. presented or prepared with an elegance attained through care for the finer details // gallimaufry :: a hodgepodge, a confused jumble.


	3. day 3 — pregame AU / games / rivalry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lately, Saihara has been seeing things in his reflections. Little does he know, Ouma has also been seeing these things.
> 
> (or, an implied reincarnation AU.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i promise i do happy endings so bear with me during the somewhat angsty(?) beginning. also this is rlly bad so im super sorry aaaa i just can’t write angst for these too haha they make me too soft.
> 
> [my twitter](https://twitter.com/slowburnsunsets)
> 
> [saioumaweek2020](https://twitter.com/saioumaweek/status/1267515484548857863?s=20)

It's been happening a lot lately.

It's not a permanent thing. Just little bits and pieces that he swears he notices, and yet when he checks again, they're gone. Little things that he sees and yet no one else does. Sometimes it feels like he's going mad — seeing sights no one else can, images of something he doesn't remember flashing along in the reflections.

It happens on multiple occasions, but on maybe the tenth time or so, Saihara gets a good look at the strange reflections when he's walking down the street, three books tucked underneath his arm as he makes his way home from school.

He passes by the window of a shop, the sunlight reflecting so brightly off it that it's nearly blinding. Yet, as he goes by, that's when he sees it.

Saihara swears that it's his reflection. It has to be; same dark hair, tired eyes, pale complexion, dark attire. But it's not him. It doesn't feel like him. Sure, it's his face, but he can't attach his own person to whoever he's looking at.

The sight he sees is blurry, but he catches enough of a glimpse to see that his "reflection" isn't wearing what he is—instead sporting a black suit and hat, not even his eyes looking the same, an unnaturally excited glint in them that Saihara is sure he has never had before.

When he actually blinks and takes a few steps back, it's gone. All that's there is him and his normal reflection. It must be his imagination, right? Because no one else saw it, certainly not the people inside the shop who all see him staring tentatively at the window. So it must just be in his head?

He doesn't get too much time to think about it before someone comes running at him, effectively knocking them both back a few steps.

"Oww! Saihara-chan needs to be paying more attention to wear he's going!" Ouma pouts, rubbing his head, "I could have gotten a head injury, y'know! I have a rare medical condition."

"You ran into me," Saihara reminds. He already knows Ouma doesn't have a rare medical condition—he's known him for too long.

Saihara can't pinpoint when, but he knows at some point his and Ouma's friendship became different—in school, it evolved into some form of rivalry, always at odds with one another. Always on opposing sides on the debate team. Always on enemy teams during gym class. Always seeing who can get the higher grade on exams.

But when they're just outside of school, it's like Ouma completely forgets their competitions. Always comes over to Saihara's house at dinner (and at how frequently he does, even Saihara's aunt and uncle know him). Always drags him to places all day long. Always talks to him for hours until one of them falls asleep.

The change has never made sense, but Saihara has always gone along with it.

"Whoops, did I?" Ouma inquires, an I-Didn't-Do-It smile on his face, "I probably wouldn't have if Saihara-chan wasn't blocking the sidewalk!"

Saihara motions with his free hand to the entire rest of the sidewalk, where he hardly even takes up any space.

"Mm, whatever," Ouma brushes aside the topic before noticing the books and sliding one out from underneath the boy's arm. "Oh? What's this?"

Saihara still remembers when they were little and ran around each other's backyards pretending they were everything they were not—knights, wizards, kings, pirates, every possible adventure they could go on (Saihara's favorite "adventure" was always when Ouma pretended to be some famous thief and he'd be a detective going after him, but it's been a long time since they've ever played that).

"I see! I see!" Ouma exclaims, flipping through the pages, "how studious of you! Are you reading up on these boooring old books cuz of the next debate coming up? I'll bet you are."

Saihara takes the book back carefully and tucks it with the others. "I am," he affirms.

Saihara still remembers the feeling of his heartbeat speeding up when Ouma would drag him around the neighborhood by hand, grinning at him with one front tooth (the other having been knocked out on a day when he didn't realize a branch sticking out of the ground would be his worst enemy) as they pretended to be spies whose goal was just to not get caught by the neighbors.

(—Saihara never did get over that feeling, and every time the two boys go head-to-head in a debate, his heart still stutters as Ouma flashes him a cocky smile.)

"I knew I'd be right! How about this: let's play a game," Ouma declares. He takes a step closer, just enough for his own image to appear in the window beside them.

Saihara doesn't pay attention to the liar's words, instead focusing on the reflection he sees in the mirror. It doesn't go away when he stares at it, and he's terrified to refer to it as 'Ouma' because it is him, but it isn't.

All the things that make Ouma, well, Ouma feel like they're gone. It's his face and his body, but it feels and looks off.

While the real Ouma clasps his hands behind his back and leans on the heels of his feet like an overly energetic child, the reflection's version feels more . . . sad.

Shoulders hunched, hands clasped not in mischievous intent but instead nervousness, eyes filled with concern instead of pride. Hair darker than normal, anything but confidence in its posture, a black _gakuran_ instead of Ouma's real clothes. A fear surrounding him that Saihara has never seen Ouma exhibit once in their long years of knowing one another.

_"How about this: let's play a game."_

A game—?

". . . ihara-chan's not listening to meeeee!" Ouma's whining comes into focus finally, waving his hand around in front of the taller boy now, "that's so rude!"

Saihara blinks, eyes sliding from him to his non-changing reflection, from someone he once knew and someone he doesn't recognize.

He'd seen Ouma cry many times when they were little, but never once legitimately. Always just crocodile tears, tantrums cried just to get Saihara to pay attention to him and immediately disappearing once he shows up, swapping his tears out for rambling about 'stealing his heart'.

The instability he sees in the reflection's eyes feel like they're real tears welling up, and seeing the imagery of something similar to Ouma genuinely crying makes him feel sick. 

He can't explain it, but each reflection fills him with some sort of dread—a painfully uncomfortable weight settling on his chest like a burden holding him down, an anchor sinking him to the bottom of the ocean. It feels like he should know what it is, like he should know what's going on . . . but he doesn't. He doesn't know the people in the reflections, and he doesn't know why he's seeing them.

The playfulness from Ouma's voice disappears ever so slightly. "Uhh, Saihara-chan?"

_"How about this: let's play a game."_

_"A game . . . ?"_

_"I think you'll like it."_

His head hurts. The longer he looks at Ouma's reflection the more it feels like the world is sinking around him, an awful despair welling up and swallowing around like he needs to forget everything to remember something.

Each time someone's words echo throughout his head, an emptying sensation washes over him—the calm before the storm feeling of denial that settles inside you as you fall down a deep height, the numbness and deafening silence that overcomes every other sense as wind pushes against you. It sinks you down a black void of nothing, muffled noises and endless thoughts, no room to breathe or call for help. Suffocating.

He shakes his head and closes his eyes. He walks past Ouma, continuing down the sidewalk. "N-Not right now, Ouma-kun."

From the distance, he hears Ouma call out, "Aww, such a spoilsport! But I get it! Saihara-chan just can't handle going against someone as unbeatable as me!"

_"How about this: let's play a game."_

_"A game . . . ?"_

_"I think you'll like it."_

_"A-Are you sure . . . ?"_

_"Come on, don't you trust me?"_

_". . . Y-Yeah . . . I trust you, Saihara-chan."_

Saihara doesn't listen any longer to what else Ouma yells out after him. It's probably just some sort of challenge anyway, because that's all they are now—a challenge born out of connection. A result of a 'because' instead of a 'what if'.

He doesn't see the smile disappear from Ouma's face, doesn't see the concern weaving through his mind. He just keeps going forward and refuses to look back.

  
━━━━━━━━

_"Ha, even now! You're concerned about me from the bottom of your heart! Nishishi . . . now, you'll never ever forget me for the rest of your life. I stole your heart so now I'm satisfied. I don't need to steal your life anymore."_

It's two weeks later, after another five instances of seeing reflections and hearing conversations he swears he's never had before, that the dreams are the clearest they've ever been. They don't feel like dreams anymore. They feel like real experiences, like everything he's smelling and hearing and seeing and feeling is real and he's lived through it before.

Saihara jolts awake, chest heaving as he catches his breath, hands flying up to his face. His fingers caress his cheeks, feeling nothing but the cool dampness of once shed tears.

He looks out the window. It's dark out. He can't focus on the red numbers of his clock, but he can at least tell it's the early morning hours.

His heart palpitates as he carefully lays back down. Staring at the ceiling in the dark, he rubs his eyes free of the tears. He doesn't even know why he's crying, or why his heart is still beating so fast. It's not the type of rapid beat that happened when Ouma would smile at him . . . no, it's a different kind. A constant and perpetual feeling of fear, like he knows he needs to do something but can't.

When his heart finally does calm down and his face has dried, he rolls onto his side and stares at the wall until he falls back asleep.

_"You're alone, Ouma-kun. And you'll always be alone."_

This time, Saihara rolls off the bed as he abruptly wakes up.

The floor knocks against his head as he scrambles to sit up, taking in his surroundings and realizing he's awake. Upon that revelation, it's easier to calm down. The sinking feeling remains, though.

He shakes his head and stands up, discarding the blankets that fell with him.

The lingering sensation rests in his body as he moves. An unexplainable weight, a candle being burned down to its core. It's not the same as enduring some form of anxiety, Saihara thinks, it feels different than this. Like a longing feeling to do something, to change something. The constant paranoia resting in your head when you just can't remember something, but you know it's there. The aching reminder somewhere inside him that says to fix something.

_"You want to get to know the real me, right? Then you should stay by my side."_

It doesn't feel like a fear anymore.

He walks over to the mirror on his dresser, eyes closed until he knows he's standing right in front of it.

_"Y-You want to join D-Danganronpa?"_

_"Of course, don't you?"_

_"I don't know . . ."_

_"Everyone would love you if you went on."_

_". . . You think s-so?"_

_"Absolutely."_

_". . . Okay."_

When his eyes open, they're heavy. The eyes that draw back at him are tired too, tragically determined stare. Not excitement. Not fear. Just a heart-aching pain twisted into an encouraged infuriation. A mourning turned into honor, moving on instead of falling back.

A hat sitting on his head. A black coat with silver designs worn over a white plain shirt. It's not him, at least, not anymore. But at least now, he knows who it is.

_"I suppose I was in the palm of your hand until the very end . . ."_

It doesn't feel like a dream anymore.

He knows it wasn't one either.

He makes his way through his house quietly, careful to not wake up his uncle or aunt. He doesn't even mind that he's in pajamas—he just needs to fix something. That's how he winds up on the doorstep of Ouma's house down the street in the middle of the night. He only has to knock once before getting a response, which clues him in on the fact that Ouma was already awake beforehand.

"Saihara-chan's so odd," is the first thing he hears from the smaller boy as he opens the door, "first, you totally ditch me right in the middle of my epic challenge! Then afterwards, you go acting super weird, like some sorta zombie and avoid me the whole time! That's not how rivalries work, y'know? Hasn't anyone ever taught you that, hmmm?"

For the first time in nearly a month that these occurrences have been going on, the sound of Ouma's voice is a relief. And because it's a relief, he immediately pulls Ouma into a hug, relishing in the comfort it brings momentarily.

"We need to talk."

━━━━━━━━

"You've been experiencing it too?"

"Duh," Ouma hums, "it's pretty weird, right?"

'Weird' is not how Saihara would describe it. "Not exactly."

"Here, come check this out," Ouma invites, tugging at his sleeve until they both stand up from sitting on the floor and guides him into the bathroom. He stands in front of the mirror and points. "You see it too?"

Saihara blinks, and in the reflection, there they are. That same dark coat and hat he saw in the mirror of his own room earlier that night. That same familiarity. As for Ouma, though, this reflection is something he's never seen.

This reflection feels a lot more familiar as well, more similar to the Ouma he knows as opposed to the other one. A white coat resembling that of a straightjacket with mismatched buttons and a checkered scarf.

He looks back at the real Ouma, looks at his normal pajamas, and then back at the reflection.

"Soooo, what do you think's causing it?"

What he's been experiencing has felt too real to be anything like a dream or just imagination. Too solid of a sensation to just be written off as a delusion. It's more concrete, like a memory—like he lived through it before and he was just remembering it all over again.

"I don't know." The weighted feeling is gone.

"Mm, maybe it's like reincarnation or something," Ouma casually suggests with a shrug, crossing his arms and leaning back against the wall, "what'cha think, Saihara-chan? We had some pretty screwed up past lives, huh?"

Saihara doesn't reply, but the idea that Ouma's put out there floats in his head as he stares at the reflection. At one point, he supposes he's been staring for too long, because Ouma's hands wrap around his face from behind and cover his eyes.

He shakes him a bit. "Ah, crap. I broke him."

"No, it's just . . ." Saihara's mind starts to put all the pieces together, bit by bit. ". . . if, somehow, your theory is actually right, then doesn't that mean that I told you . . . ?"

He really doesn't want to repeat his words, because it fills him with a sense of guilt at the memories he can recall from afterwards. He doesn't need to repeat them, though, because Ouma's smart enough to understand what he means.

He flinches as Ouma pinches his cheek and lowers his arms to wrap around his torso from behind (even despite their height difference).

"Has anyone ever told you that you overthink a lot?"

"H-Huh?"

"If what we're remembering really are things from our past lives, then you did basically tell me I'd be forever alone." The tone Ouma uses is still so casual. Saihara doesn't understand how anyone can just talk about such phenomenas so easily. "And I mean, yeah, that probably hurt me a lot back then, and it was pretty harsh of you. That much I can admit! Buuuut, one of those memories was from a different life than that, right?"

Saihara thinks for a moment, scavenging through the conversations and thoughts he can recall. He finally settles on a thought that he concludes probably is from a separate life than the one where he yelled at Ouma.

_He can lie about a lot of things, but he can't hide the warmth of his hand._

"Uh-huh . . ." Saihara slowly admits.

"Then at some point, we got it right, right?" Ouma shrugs again.

He doesn't get how Ouma can be so nonchalant about it. He still feels so guilty for it, and yet Ouma speaks of it like he's recalling the time he fell off his bike for the first time.

"You're staring agaaaaain," Ouma calls out, poking Saihara's stomach, "man, Saihara-chan's really smart, but he's also really silly, you know that?"

"But—"

"Come on, so what if one of our past lives were pretty screwed up?" Ouma hums, "it's useless to just keep dwelling on it. There's no point. Plus, when Saihara-chan's sad, it's no fun at all!"

"No fun?"

"Mmhm! After all, who else is going to keep accepting my challenges and games and somehow mysteriously win, hmmm?"

"You mean you weren't actually competing with me all this time?" Saihara gapes.

"Nishishi, did you really think I would lose a debate? C'mon, I'm the best at sniffing out weak points!" the liar admits, "I thought you knew? I just figured it was some sorta foreplay to you."

"No, it was _not_!"

Ouma laughs into the back of Saihara's shirt, squeezing his torso tighter from behind as he does. "I'm just messing with you. Awww, come ooooon! Don't be grumpy!"

Despite Saihara's insistence on Ouma's joke not being funny, when he looks at the mirror, he's smiling. And their reflections—despite all the mistakes they made, all the apologies they never gave, and all the things they couldn't do— smile back at them.

(—They may not know it now in this life, but the next time their reincarnations intertwine once again, it's in the form of Japan's most infamous Phantom Thief and its most famous detective, both having found themselves caught up in a chase after one another's hearts.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ; ". . . i stole your heart . . ." — (obvi.) line from ouma's ftes.
> 
> ; ". . . you're alone . . ." — saihara's line from ch4 (obvi.).
> 
> ; " . . . in the palm of your hand . . ." — saihara's line from ouma's graduation event.
> 
> ; "you want to get to know the real me? . . ." — ouma's line from his graduation event.
> 
> ; ". . . he can't hide the warmth of his hand." — saihara's (internal) line from the end of ouma's graduation event.
> 
> ; the other "memories" about joining dr are obvi. pregame lol (forgive me for how bad it is lol i've never written pg before aaa)
> 
> ; this chapter was originally titled, “tacenda” — def. :: things better left unsaid / matters to be passed over in silence.


	4. day 4 — fantasy au / flowers / travel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> saihara and ouma visit a rose park.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whoops i finished these next two chapters on time but forgot to post them the day off,, sorry!!
> 
> [my twitter](https://twitter.com/slowburnsunsets)
> 
> [saioumaweek2020](https://twitter.com/saioumaweek/status/1267515484548857863?s=20)

Saihara has many accomplishments in life—an acclaimed detective with many solved cases under his belt, alumni of one of the world's most elite schools, maintaining a well-earning career and keeping fortune to his name, but by far, his biggest accomplishment has got to be being able to wrangle Ouma into being peaceful for an entire road trip.

Their two and a half hour car ride consists of Ouma finding every way to keep himself entertained, which is now why Ouma is:

> 1\. banned from messing with the car radio (because one can only handle so much of listening to the radio stations being switched every two minutes).
> 
> 2\. forbidden from sticking any body part of his out the window (because the last time almost resulted in chaos when Ouma saw a dog poking his head out of the window of a vehicle driving next to them and decided it wouldn't be so bad to just _pet the dog_ ).
> 
> 3\. prohibited from doing literally anything that could potentially distract the driver (whoever that may be).

So, that leaves him with the options of using his phone, pointing at everything he sees out the window, or playing normal road trip games as they drive to the Shizuoka Prefecture and into Shimada City. According to him, he’s determined to find _some_ form of entertainment.

(Ouma ends up falling asleep when they're halfway there.)

—

"You think if I sneeze enough while we're here, I'll shrivel into a peanut?" Ouma offhandedly asks.

"I'm pretty sure your allergies aren't that bad," Saihara hums in response, "and even if they were, I don't think you'd shrivel up into a peanut."

"You never know!" Ouma declares, swinging their interlocked hands back and forth, "would Saihara-chan still love me if I did look like a wrinkled ol' peanut?"

Saihara makes an effort to tilt his head a bit and pretend to ponder for a moment. "I suppose I'd have to think about it."

Ouma's head whips up to look at him with the most betrayed expression he can put on, and Saihara cracks under the look. "I'm kidding," he offers with a smile, "you can tell when I'm lying, can't you?"

"Of course I can! But I never knew Saihara-chan could be so cruel." Ouma shakes his head in fake disappointment, knocking their shoulders (not quite their shoulders, because Ouma isn't as tall as Saihara, but it's close) together. Saihara doesn't offer any defense against his claim, because he knows it's just a lie, so he just gives a small smile in response.

The two of them walk down the pathways, hand in hand as they look at each patch of flowers. The Shimada City Rose Hill Park is known for their vast varieties of rose plants, all arranged in a large garden with walkways to view.

The flowers are beautiful—bright and healthy, crowded into greenhouses and aisles, framed by neatly manicured green hedges and brick walls. Everywhere they turn, flushing pink roses, red roses so rich in color they could've been dipped in wine, yellow roses as pure as they would be if they were bathed in honey, white roses as elegant as ballroom crystals.

In the distance lies fields of fresh growing trees, a white and clean greenhouse at the back of the park.

They spend time pointing at different assortments of roses—first stopping by the Front Rose Garden and then making their way to the tunnel greenhouse.

For the most part, Saihara was conflicted on taking the drive here, fearing that Ouma wouldn't have much fun. But instead, he ends up being dragged through the paths, letting the roses brush them by as they move, the liar pointing at each new batch they find (he finds that Ouma seems to have a preference for Charleston roses, but when he acknowledges it, Ouma merely brushes it off with a lie).

As they walk along the Climbing Rose Victorian Fence, Ouma brushes his fingers along the assortments arranged. Multicolored roses treated to grow up in a large pillar-like stance, connected to each patch by ropes.

"What else have you got up your sleeve, Shumai?"

"Do you want it to be a surpri—" Saihara's words are cut short when he feels something cold land on his nose.

The singular drop is followed up shortly by more droplets, landing on both of them, until eventually the rainfall starts to come down heavier with each passing moment. They scramble around the Old Roses Exhibition from the Osaka Expo and through the Corners until they pass the Sloped Rose Garden area, taking shelter in the Greenhouse.

Most of the visitors have done the same thing, so the two of them settle in one of the narrow aisles. The rain splashes against the glass walls as they look out.

"Ah, well, there goes our plans," Saihara sighs.

"It's just a little rain! C'mon, are you afraid of it?" Ouma inquires, when thunder rolls in the distance and he flinches at the sudden burst.

"Sure," Saihara goes along, "we should get to the car. Are you ready to run?"

"Born ready!"

Saihara takes off his jacket and holds it over both of their heads, acting as an umbrella. After a few moments of preparation, the two of them break out into a sprint and run through the rain.

Saihara climbs into the right seat and Ouma fumbles into the left, both of them dripping wet as the detective drapes the now-wet jacket over the seats in the back. He's grateful that they decided on leather chairs and not fabric, because it would be the worst to clean if they weren't.

The two of them sit there in silence, staring out the windows at the rain that only seems to grow more aggressive, all drenched and shivering.

Ouma is the first to break the silence—as he usually is—by laughing. His hair clings to his face and so do his clothes, and he cringes each time he feels the wet fabric, but still laughs nonetheless.

"Too bad we didn't run to the Rose Hall," the liar says, "I heard they have excellent French food! Did you know that's my faaaaaavorite?"

"That's a lie, isn't it?"

"Mm, who knows?"

Saihara starts the car and buckles up his seatbelt, carefully pulling out of the parking lot. "Are you cold?"

"Pffft, of course not! Supreme leaders don't get cold," Ouma denies.

"You know, if you're lying, you're going to get sick," Saihara informs him knowingly.

"Supreme leaders don't get sick either! Non non, I have a very strong immune system." Ouma crosses his arms and puts on a determined expression.

"I'm sure you do." Saihara turns on the heater anyway, because one time during their years at Hope's Peak, Ouma ended up getting a terrible fever after it got too cold one winter (it was also how Ouma ended up befriending one of the more sickly students whom he met in the nurse's office, an upperclassman of theirs with a rather unusual personality, but he's digressing).

From the corner of his eye, Saihara catches a glimpse of Ouma's face—bored and uninterested, head resting against the window as he looks out. His fingers fidget around. Whether he's moving because he's shivering or because he's bored, Saihara can't really tell. Regardless, he sighs and gives in. "Ouma-kun?"

"Hm?"

"You can use the radio if you want."

The liar's face lights up at the retraction of the first rule, and he springs to action. He flips between station after station, all types of noises filling the car now. Most of them sound like some of the Western songs Saihara has heard on trips he's taken with his uncle (or recognizes from the movies he's seen his mother star in).

"I wonder," Ouma hums, "can—"

"—No, I'm not singing." 

"Awww, come ooooon! I promise I won't laugh!"

"And I should trust a liar?" Saihara lets out a small laugh.

"Yup! You definitely should." Ouma nods and flashes him a bright grin.

"Uh-huh," Saihara remarks, shaking his head but still simpering, "another time."  
—

Ouma dries his hair with a towel as he leaves the bathroom in a pair of pajamas and flops down onto the guest bed. The rain only worsened as they drove, so they decided to find a hotel to stay in rather than brave the slippery roads.

He looks out the window and at the night sky. Saihara had left to run an errand (accompanied by an umbrella this time) before he hopped into the shower, which? Strange, because the detective had insisted despite the weather and time. Ah, whatever. It may be odd, but it's Saihara, so he doubts it's for something troublesome.

Anyway, he curls up on the bed and messes with the T.V. (internally grateful for them being able to find a hotel with one) as he waits for him to return.

After some time, the door opens slowly and in enters Saihara. He slips off his shoes and makes his way to Ouma, who's nearly passed out on the bed.

"Ouma-kun?"

"You took foreeeeeever," Ouma whines, sitting up, "I could have aged a thousand years in that time."

"Ah, sorry," Saihara apologizes as he sits down beside him.

Ouma notices Saihara's efforts to keep his hand behind his back. "What'cha got there?"

Saihara pulls his hand forward, revealing a small bouquet of roses—red, pink, and white. He gives him a soft smile. "I didn't think it'd take so long, but it's still raining out . . ."

Gently, Saihara places the bouquet in Ouma's hands. For a moment, even he pauses just to look at the assortment. It is beautiful, really. But as usual, he doesn't take long to return to his playful demeanor. He grins at him and says, "As I suspected, Saihara-chan is very weird."

"How so?" Saihara asks with a curious smile.

"All that trouble for this," Ouma hums, though he buddies himself with running his fingers lightly along the petals, "very weird indeed."

Saihara gives a short laugh, leaving to the bathroom briefly before returning with a glass of water. They place the flowers in the cup on the nightstand of Ouma's side, then crawl into bed.

Ouma lays on his back and stares at the roses, Saihara's arm looped around his torso and pulling him close. "Hey, Shumai?"

"Yeah?"

". . . Thanks."

Another quiet laugh. "You're welcome."

The next morning, Ouma ends up waking up before Saihara. His gaze directs itself to the bouquet, now illuminated from behind due to the morning light shining through the window.

He thinks about it for a moment. He thinks of Saihara's attentiveness, and wonders about the reasoning behind it. Quietly, he finds his phone and checks his sneaking suspicion online. Upon finding an answer, he looks at the roses one last time, and beams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ; shimada city rose hill park has over 8500 rose plants of about 350 varieties from around the world.
> 
> ; hanakotoba :: red roses — i love you, love, beauty, passion, romance // white roses — innocence, purity, i am worthy of you, reverence // pink roses — grace, gratitude, happiness // (bonus yellow roses — can mean friendship).
> 
> ; yeah ouma looked up the hanakotoba of the flowers saihara gave him <3
> 
> ; “two and a half hours” — time estimated for a car ride from tokyo to shimada city.
> 
> ; “one of the more sickly students” — yes it was komaeda, haha
> 
> ; chapter was originally named “redamancy” — def. :: the act of loving someone who loves you / a love returned in full.


	5. day 5 — phantom thief au / casino / truth and lies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> saihara, one of japan’s most famous detectives, is invited to a celebration. there, he ends up dancing with japan’s most infamous phantom thief.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hoping one day i can write a phantom thief au story aaaa^^
> 
> [my twitter](https://twitter.com/slowburnsunsets)
> 
> [saioumaweek2020](https://twitter.com/saioumaweek/status/1267515484548857863?s=20)

If not for his polite mannerisms, Saihara probably wouldn't be here. Really, it's not much of his scene—prominent figures amongst the country's most elite, coming together in a sumptuous place for commemoration. But alas, he's been invited for not only his title as one of Japan's most famous detectives, but also for his connection to the very affluentTogami family (a result of aiding them in solving a case that involved a spy working for them sent from a rival family). Therefore, he has an obligation to make an appearance.

The honoring itself is for the fact of the heir to the Togami Empire, Togami Byakuya, acquiring another management position within yet another company. The celebration takes place within one of the halls mostly used for receptions—and mostly used by other fortunate families—owned by the Togami family, and as such, practically bleeds elysian taste from every inch of the structure. Connected to it remains other faculties, but Saihara has yet to explore them.

An extravagant, grand gesture, yes, but fitting for them, he supposes.

The detective makes his way up the steps and past the columns lining the front entrance. From inside pours the warm light of candlelit chandeliers and despite having his own worthy career, Saihara can't help but feel _poor_ (which, now that he thinks about it, is probably the desired feeling the Togami's were going for).

Anyway, he makes his way through the crowds. He recognizes a few, a majority of them also carrying the Ultimate title and as such served as his upperclassmen. He spends most of the night declining the beverages and appetizers he's offered by the servants, making small talk with many influential figures that intimidate him a little too much for his comfort.

It's not until he bumps into one of his own colleagues that the night seems to pick up. Kirigiri has always been a role model to him in a sense, as well as working with him on the Togami case.

Unfortunately, they don't spend too much time catching up on conversation, as she tells him she has something to investigate while she attends here. As he gives her his wish of good luck, she in turn offers him a warning.

"Normally I'd consider it a breach of policy to tell someone, but given our past, I'll tell you this much," the older detective offers, "I'd advise you to be on the lookout. It's been said that there's a possible criminal amongst us."

"A criminal?"

"The Phantom Thief."

He's heard of the Phantom Thief before. Despite the Thief's infamy across Japan, not much is known about him (a more accurate answer really being that nothing is known about him)—only holding a rather notorious reputation for being nearly impossible to catch by most forms of authority.

He takes a moment to process it, but nods. "I see. I'll keep an eye out."

"I have to be on my way now, but remember," Kirigiri warns, as she walks past him, "the Phantom Thief is more clever than most. Be careful, Saihara-kun."

With that, she disappears into the crowd.

He sighs to himself, pondering the new information he's been given when one of the hosts hired to tend to the celebration starts to give a small speech on behalf of the family. He tries to pay attention, but his mind keeps wandering to the warning. As he's caught up in his own thoughts, someone wanders over to his side.

The stranger comes dressed in a clean white suit, complemented by a dark mauve-colored dress shirt and shirt cuffs underneath, as well as a checkered tie and black shoes. His lively hair is pulled back into a short ponytail, and on his face lies something akin to a smirk, but not quite as smug.

Handsome Stranger (as he's been dubbed internally by Saihara) approaches with a surprising set of words. "Don't you think it's a bit rude to look so bored at a party you're invited to?"

"Um, excuse me?" Saihara blinks with surprise. That's a rather odd way of starting conversation, isn't it?

Handsome Stranger shrugs casually. "I'm just saying, you look pretty uninterested. Isn't it in bad taste to look like you don't wanna be somewhere when you've been invited?"

"You don't look very interested either," Saihara comments.

"Nishishi, don't be so fooled. I'm having a fantastic time!" Handsome Stranger declares with such a sudden burst of enthusiasm that Saihara nearly thinks he has whiplash.

"I . . . wouldn't have guessed."

"Oh, don't worry too much about it," he hums, "I was just lying, after all."

"Lying—!" Saihara repeats.

The stranger laughs. "Yuppers! It's kinda my thing." He gives him a shameless smile and meets his gaze. "So tell me, Mr. Stranger, what's _your_ thing?"

"Ah—" he catches the 'stranger' part first, partially due to the abnormality of it, because while he doesn't consider himself as famous as some of his other friends who share the Ultimate title, he's still a renowned detective, so the chances of him not being known by this guy are rather slim, "—my name is Saihara Shuichi. And . . . my thing?"

"Mmhm, your thing." Handsome Stranger makes a show of tapping his chin in thought. Just as he does, the speech comes to a close and music starts to play, a pleasant melody that gathers people to start dancing. He snaps his fingers and holds out his hand. "Aha! Is it dancing?"

"Dancing?" Saihara looks at the people around them and shakes his head, "no . . . I don't really—"

"C'mon, show me what you got!" The stranger suddenly takes Saihara's hand and pulls him into the lull of the dancing crowd.

"I-I really don't dance, really!" Saihara exclaims as he's roped into a standard waltz position.

"It's always nice to try new things!" the liar insists.

Despite his concerns, Saihara can't find it in him to drag himself away from the dance. Too interested in the shameless stranger. So instead, he just tries his best to relax and not mess up the rhythm.

Past the whirling groups and couples, the two of them dance through the crowds—slow, soft steps taken in synchronized patterns. Black and white dance along a marble floor decorated in gold and silver linings, candlelights illuminating the world around them as the melody of a small orchestra play throughout the hall.

Saihara finds it easy to keep a pace with him, surprisingly enough, like their movements are tailored to fit one another perfectly. He starts to drift off into a state of kef, subconsciously pursuing the almost trancelike feeling of the listening to the distancing music and the rhythm of the slow waltz.

"Alright, I have a biiiiit of a confession to make," the stranger admits, bringing Saihara out of his thoughts, "I was lying when I called you Mr. Stranger."

Saihara sighs. "I should have figured."

"Oh?" the stranger tilts his head in such an innocent sense of curiosity that Saihara nearly forgets about the whole lying schtick.

"It's just . . ." the detective tries to find a way to word it without sounding conceded, "I thought it was strange that you hadn't known my name. N-Not because I'm really relevant, but the Togami case and the people who worked on it were rather well-known. So I . . . just deducted." He probably should have also admitted to his status, but decides against it.

"Deduction skills, huh?" the liar ponders aloud, ". . . interesting."

The two of them dance until they move around into an area of the hall hidden by a grand staircase that leads up into the other parts of the overall joined structure. There's hardly anyone around, the shadows casting even dimmer sceneries in the corner.

"I didn't take Saihara-chan for being a liar," the stranger hums.

"I haven't lied about anything."

"You totally have! You said you didn't really dance, and yet you don't even slip up once! How's that fair, hmmm?" the liar huffs, puffing his cheeks out as if to accentuate his dismay.

"I don't! I—I just . . ." the detective glances around, his face flushing, ". . . it's embarrassing."

The stranger's face lights up in interest. "Saihara-chan has _secrets_!"

"No, no, I don't really . . ." Saihara sighs.

"Come oooooon, tell me!" the liar encourages, "tell me, tell me, tell me, tell me, tell me, tell meeee!" As he continues to plead, he whirls them around quickly, their standard waltz turning into more of a Viennese Waltz.

In an effort to change their speed, Saihara relents. "Okay, okay! Just slow down!"

"Not until you tell meee!"

"My aunt used to make me take classes! Now slow down, please!" Saihara confesses.

The stranger stops, nearly completely ending their waltz, before continuing at a slower pace. He pouts, "Saihara-chan has such _boring_ secrets! C'mon, no big family secret? No secret identity? Nothing?"

"No!"

"Aww, how can you live such a boring life?"

Saihara wants to argue that being a detective is one of the farthest careers from being anywhere boring, considering his last case involved a double homicide and a major money laundering issue, but decides against it. "It's really _not_ boring."

"Oh well." The liar shrugs. "But now that I know about your Horrific-Terrible-No-Good-Never-Tell-A-Soul secret, I must know: how many dances do you know?"

Saihara nearly deadpans at the dramatics, but still adds, "A few."

"Mm, what about _this_!" the stranger is quick to shift the both of them, spinning them both around before moving just enough to change positions and dip Saihara.

The detective nearly has a heart attack as it happens, and once he finds himself lowered down towards the floor, he looks up at the stranger. Neither of them make any attempt to speak or move, only staying in the same position.

Saihara's heart races suddenly, face starting to burn and words getting stuck in his throat. He can't tell if it's his imagination on whether the stranger is moving closer. Is he??? Are his eyes just messing with him??? Is he seeing things???

His rapid succession of panicked thoughts are quieted when he realizes that yes, he is moving closer. It's when their noses brush that Saihara feels like he's going to drop dead at any moment, or perhaps just go into cardiac arrest, because goddamnit, he cannot stop his face from flushing or his heart from feeling as though it's going to spring out of his chest.

He's getting closer!

He's getting closer!!!

_He's getting closer!!!!!!_

He's—

He's moving away?

He's moving away???

_He's moving away?????_

Saihara finds himself being pulled forwards and back onto his feet slowly, guided by the liar until they stood together in silence.

"Well," the stranger starts to say, letting go of Saihara, "you're not so bad a dancer, and that's no lie!"

The detective feels himself nearly follow after the stranger's arms as they retract, chasing the warmth and closeness. Still at a loss for words, he only utters, "You . . ."

"Unfortunately, it's totally my time to go." The liar starts to stride past him and flashes him a charming smile, "I'm a very busy person."

"Is . . . is that a lie?"

"Mm, maybe!"

Again chasing after the feeling, Saihara turns and takes a few steps forward to follow. He doesn't continue, though, only watching as he walks away.

"Oh, and Saihara-chan?" The stranger looks over his shoulder one last time at the detective, "about what you said about not having secrets . . ." His eyes slide to the crowd further away and then back to him. " _Everyone_ has secrets, y'know?"

He gives him one last smile, and then disappears into the crowds.

Once Saihara is able to process it all, he quickly looks around for the liar. "W-Wait! I didn't get your—"

Alas, he can't spot him anywhere.

"—Name . . ."

Just as he considers searching for him, a few people come rushing down the staircase in a haste. Based off their uniforms, Saihara concludes that they're security guards. They rush into the crowd, and a little bit away, he can see them talking to Togami.

He hears him order them to secure all exits and round up everyone together. Despite this, he notices Kirigiri make her way past everyone and towards the staircase. In instinct, he follows behind her and hurries up the steps.

Togami throws them both a look, though it's more out of granting them permission rather than advising them not to (that, or he already knew he most likely wouldn't be able to convince Kirigiri otherwise).

They rush up to the second floor, where Saihara finds out is developed into a casino. In many aspects, he figures it makes sense—most people that use this place as a venue are prominent and high-class, meaning they can probably afford to spend a lot at a casino.

The casino itself is nice, actually. Red carpeted floors decorated with golden designs filled the floor, with black walls and ceiling lined with uplights shining a multitude of colors. The entire floor is filled with machines and games that blink and flicker with enticing life. Yet again, Saihara feels poor.

He doesn't get much time to really take in the surroundings any longer, though, because the lights all within the second floor shut off within an instant.

Screams and gasps fill the air out of surprise, the occupants of the casino starting to panic. A few people shout from the back, something along the lines of, "Look over there!"

Kirigiri and Saihara are quick to run through the casino, trying their best not to run into anyone. They split up, Kirigiri taking the left front side and Saihara taking the back area.

Saihara searches around for any clues as to who caused this or any reason as to why Togami had them secure all exits. He hears a noise come from further down, and he sprints down one of the hallways that seem to lead to another area of the floor.

When he reaches the next room, his attention instantly snaps to one of the windows high off the ground towards the ceiling, where he sees a shadowed figure climbing out.

"Hey! You!" he yells out as he hurries to the window.

The culprit is still hidden by the absence of light in the room, shadowing the front half of his facing side. His back is illuminated by the moonlight outside. What Saihara can see, though, is the outline of a mask on the suspect's face, as well as a hat on his head and a cape around his shoulders. Despite most of the lighting, though, he can recognize the outfit.

The suspect laughs and only declares, "I look forward to our future chases, Detective! Catch me if you can!"

Before Saihara can react, the culprit jumps out of the window and disappears into the night.

Kirigiri bursts into the room just as he leaves and rushes over to Saihara's side. The two of them stare out the window at where the culprit once was.

"Saihara-kun, did you see who it was?"

". . . The Phantom Thief."

The older detective sighs and mumbles something about having knew it, before leaving to return downstairs and start her investigation.

He knows he shouldn't, but Saihara can't help it. He looks up at the window and smiles ever so slightly. "So, that's your secret, isn't it?"

He looks forward to their future chases too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ; this chapter was originally named “koi no yokan” ( 恋の予感 ) — a japanese saying for the feeling upon meeting someone for the first time and knowing you will inevitably fall in love with them at some point in the future.


	6. day 6 — post-game au / wedding / free time events

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ten years after the participants of the 53rd killing game wake up, saihara and ouma celebrate their wedding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fun fact: i did so much research for this entire week that my phone thinks im hosting a wedding in japan now and won’t stop sending me ads
> 
> [my twitter](https://twitter.com/slowburnsunsets)
> 
> [saioumaweek2020](https://twitter.com/saioumaweek/status/1267515484548857863?s=20)

Waking up was cold at first.

Before, the sleep was the equivalent of being slammed under the surface of the ocean, feeling the water fill your lungs and burn until you ache from the inside out. Desperately clawing through the thick liquid of the darkening blue, the sunlight disappearing the further down you sink. Deafening until there's no noise left, the world around fading to a darkness.

Waking up was being dragged from the bottom of the ocean and to the surface.

The lights were so bright, and the air was so _cold_. There were people talking, and yet it was like all that echoed was a ringing noise. Hands placed on his shoulders and guided him past electronic pods, wires hanging from them and connected to a large centerpiece until they entered a narrow hallway.

"Your protagonist status grants you the perk of waking up first," they told him, "your fellow survivors will wake up soon as well. After them, the victims are to be woken up in order from last to first, and the same will go for the executed. They'll be put into separate rooms for interviewing."

He didn't say anything. What was he supposed to say? What was going on?

They took him to a room that was marble from floor to ceiling. Every wall except the front was soundproofed. Surrounding the doorway was a wall of glass, and opposite to it was a leather couch. Everything was just black and white and bright and cold.

He just sat on the couch and stared at the glass, at the hallway beyond it. His whole body felt stiff and tired. He was stiff and tired, and his face felt tough from the tears that seemed to dry.

Everything was so confusing. So bright. So cold. So monochrome. So tiring. So . . . _much_. And all he felt was confused. And blinded. And cold. And empty. And tired. And everything just hurt _so much._

He sat there for a prolonged amount of time, doing nothing but staring at the ground. Through the window, he could see shadows moving from each side of the room. He assumed it was Harukawa and Yumeno being put into the rooms beside his, but he never got the chance to see them.

It wasn't until he saw two shadows approaching from down the hallway that he focuses again. The person guiding the victim was just like everything else in the room, colorless and pristine. But he didn't spend too long looking at the guide.

His gaze settled on the only splash of color he can see—purple. His gaze chased after the mauve, desperate for some spirit of life, greedy for any break of the monotony.

Their eyes met, one of them moving on and the other stuck in place. Saihara stood up and hurried to the window. He should be angry. But he can't be. Because he's staring at the one thing he recognizes, the last familiar thing in an unfamiliar world. The only color of life in a lifeless place.

His hand shivers as it places against the window. For once, they're both scared, and it shows on both instead of just one. But a hand still places against his own regardless, separated by the glass. Fearful grey looks into fearful violet, and again they're pulled apart as the guide ushers Ouma to keep moving.

Waking up was being given all the pieces he lost, and this time, he was going to put them all back together, and he was never going to lose them again.

—

Ten years of putting together all the pieces—rebuilding and restarting, being angry and being tired, reliving and moving on, forgiving and never forgetting. Ten years worth of everything, all accumulated to this moment.

The detective checks the cufflinks of his suit, staring into the mirror. His eyes run down the black of his clothes, crisp and sharp just for today.

"The processional is starting, Saihara-kun," Toujou pokes her head past the curtains and into the room.

He gives her a nod and follows her to the hall, where everyone (with the exception of two) has gathered. With no actual family to take lead in the processional, it's Saihara himself who ends up walking in first.

The venue is _gorgeous_.

From the ceiling hangs strings of grouped studded shrubs, woven together with pearls and white ribbons. They cover the entire top, the ceiling beams decorated with them as well. On longer threads of elegant ashen flowers dangles little lights to brighten the room in a yellow glow.

Along the walls are tall potted hedges with a series of flowers delicately and specifically placed along them—camellias, carnations, chrysanthemums, hawthorns, honeysuckles, and ivy.

The glass doors on the side wall that lead outside are draped with translucent curtains that sweep against the floor. At the front of it all lies the arch, designed with bright lights and hanging bushes.

Behind Saihara trails the officiant, and then the rest of their group that aren't fulfilling other roles, who all stand before their seats. Yumeno walks down next, tossing the flower petals along behind her as she moves. After her shuffles in Amami, who carries a pillow with the rings on top of them.

Ouma is the last one to file in.

At his side is Toujou, because he insisted that his 'mom' accompany him down the aisle. She brings him to the alter and takes her spot in the front row.

On Saihara's side, behind him stands Momota and Akamatsu, both of them looking as though on the verge of tears (the pianist is the only one between the two of them who admits to loving weddings, while the other says he is just very proud and Definitely Not Crying because he Definitely Does Not Love Weddings A Lot). On Ouma's side, behind him stands Gokuhara and Iruma (Ouma can't see it, but Gokuhara is _thrilled_ to be a groomsman for the first time).

The two of them stare at one another as the officiant starts to give the welcoming, followed up by the introduction.

"Dearly beloved and honored guests, we are gathered here today to join Ouma Kokichi and Saihara Shuichi in the unity of marriage. This declaration of intent is to be entered with an understanding of its company, the obligations and responsibilities meant to be taken genuinely with thought. The grooms have prepared their vows for today, and now they will read," the officiant announces.

Ouma takes a deep breath and begins first.

"Everyone here pretty much knows about my liiiitle habit of lying," Ouma starts off.

A multitude of 'trust me, we know' comes from the others in the chairs, and Saihara gives a small laugh.

"And for the most part, I knew it made me generally, well, disliked," he continues easily, "I could live with that, y'know? I was fine with it. And there was no-ho-ho way I was ever going to give it up, 'cause it was a part of me. I wasn't gonna change who I was for anyone."

To most, it probably doesn't sound romantic at all—reminiscing about your unpopularity and unwillingness to change. But Saihara's spent a decade listening to Ouma, and through all the mysteries he spun, there was always a truth as well as a point to his stories (usually, at least).

"I figured I was probably just gonna be alone forever because of it. And yeah, yeah, I know, I know. Savor the honesty. It's not gonna be permanent," Ouma adds, and this time Saihara cracks a smile, "and then I met this detective, who was all quiet and emo and definitely not like the others. I met this detective, and it was at the wrong place at the wrong time."

Ouma finds it more uncomfortable to spill his guts out to the others, so instead he focuses on the only person who matters to him in that moment. He focuses on Saihara, and takes his hands in his own.

Ouma's fingers run over Saihara's knuckles gently. "I met you, and I wasn't allowed to let you meet me. And when I laid there under that press, I knew I was going to die—die alone and uncared for, just like I always figured. And it was totally unfair, but it was what it was. I didn't think I was going to wake up somehow. But I did. And then I met you again. I didn't want you to meet me, the real me, after everything that happened. But you chased after me. You put up with my lies and the more I pulled away, the closer you came. The more . . . 'me' I was, the more you tried. And then that's when I realized you really were crazy, Saihara-chan."

Saihara stifles a laugh.

"You stayed by my side, and got to know the real me," Ouma hums, "so . . . thanks, y'know, for not giving up on me."

A pause, and then Ouma adds: "You already know what I'm gonna say."

Saihara laughs and nods. Together in unison, they say, "It's a lie." It's an understanding between the two of them— _it's not a lie; it's never going to be a lie, and I trust you enough to know that you understand that and me, too._

Saihara collects his thoughts, and puts aside everything else in the world to focus on _his_ world. "I never understood you, Ouma-kun. Every time I tried to, it was like we were worlds apart. Always pulling in separate directions. I got so many headaches trying to tell when you were serious and when you were lying."

"When we woke up and I saw you through that window . . . finally, I understood you . . . to an extent." A bit of laughter, especially from Ouma, echoes from that line before he continues, "And I found myself running after the one thing I could understand. The one thing that made sense even when it didn't, in a world where everything was so confusing. I went after you, who made me laugh even despite how terrible I was feeling. After you, who drew me in and kept me in the palm of your hand."

"You were right. Your lies never did bore me. And every now and then, someone asks me what it's like to understand you, to know you," Saihara murmurs, "and all I can answer is that I wouldn't know, because everyday I learn something new about you. I learn something new, and it's like getting to know you all over again. Everyday . . . I get the chance to fall for you again and again. Ten years ago, I didn't think you were serious. But you succeeded, Ouma-kun. You . . . you stole my heart, and now I get to spend the rest of my life with you."

Saihara hadn't even realized he's crying until now, but at least he's not alone, because he can tell Ouma is failing to hold back his own tears as well.

"The rings, please," the officiant requests, to which Amami stands up and presents the jewelry on the cushion. He passes them to Saihara, who takes them gladly.

"Now, do you, Saihara Shuichi, take Ouma-san to be your husband? Do you promise to love, cherish, protect, and honor him forevermore, in sickness and in health, till death do you part?" the officiant asks.

"I do." Saihara slips the ring onto Ouma's finger.

"And do you, Ouma Kokichi, take Saihara-san to be your husband? Do you promise to love, cherish, protect, and honor him forevermore, in sickness and in health, till death do you part?" the officiant inquires.

"I do." Ouma slips the ring onto Saihara's finger.

"By the power vested in me, it is my honor to declare you husband and husband," the officiant announces, "may you live a life of happiness and fulfillment. You may now kiss the groom."

They pull each other close and laugh into the kiss, and it's the easiest thing in the world as their lives become one.

Their friends cheer and applaud, and somewhere off they hear Momota sobbing in the distance because again, he Definitely Does Not have a soft spot for weddings.

They spin around until they pull apart, their foreheads pressing against one another and tears running down their faces.

"Now you're really stuck with me forever," the liar laughs, "no refunds!"

The detective smiles. "I wouldn't have it any other way."

They intertwine their fingers and make their way down the aisle, everyone cheering them on as they approach the sliding glass doors on the side.

Outside, the sky is turning to night. The path from the doors lead down to the reception area. Tall torches line the pathway, as well as neatly cared for trees. From the trees are ropes of stringed lights, dangling along from branch to branch. In the distance lies the ocean, beautiful underneath the moonlight. Even further beyond are healthily covered mountain edges and forests, rich in life and color.

"Kokichi?"

"Hmmm?"

"I love you."

Another laugh and a grin. "I love you too, Shuichi."

As the two promise the rest of their lives to one another, everyone is handed a pair of sparklers, vibrant and sharp, flickering around with spirit. They raise them to the night sky and cheer one more time, before the newlyweds run hand-in-hand down the trail with everyone following behind them.


	7. day 7 — free

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> saihara finds one good thing in a day full of terrible things, all in one coffee shop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> last day for the week!! i made it!! 
> 
> i’ll probably take a few days to rest and then return with other works, so i hope you enjoyed this week! i had a fun time writing for it <3
> 
> [my twitter](https://twitter.com/slowburnsunsets)
> 
> [saioumaweek2020](https://twitter.com/saioumaweek/status/1267515484548857863?s=20)

Saihara is starting to think he's a bad person, because he doesn't know how anyone can experience this bad of a day without having some form of karma coming for them (well, maybe he does know. There is this one upperclassman of his that seems really nice, and yet suffers from even worse strokes of bad luck, but he’s digressing).

At first, he figured he was just being paranoid. Really, his alarm not going off in the morning was just a little setback. So was accidentally dropping his small loaf of _shokupan_ that was supposed to be his breakfast. And being splashed by a puddle when a car drove over it. And missing the usual train. And getting to school late. And oversleeping through a test. And also dropping his _bento_ during lunch. And being late to a majority of his classes. And accidentally sleeping through the subject notes. And being given a damning amount of homework. And missing the train again because he got too caught up in helping out one of his friends at their club. And—

—And at this point, he is at his limit.

That's how he finds himself trudging down the sidewalk aimlessly, hands shoved into the pockets of his overcoat as he shivers in the cold air.

When he sighs, the puff of air that leaves his mouth trails off in the wind. His attention catches on the light gleaming through the tall glass windows of a corner building across the street.

There's a sign that sits outside the opening doors, kanji scribbled in multicolored chalk in a Western-stylized decoration, too far to really read with the exception of the labeling at top that reads ' _kissaten_ '. In the corner of it is a little drawing of a coffee cup and a pastry as well, so he concludes it's a coffee shop.

Another breeze of freezing air blows against him and he shivers yet again, burrowing further into his coat. He looks back at the building and decides to take refuge in it for a few minutes, just to warm up before he can continue his walk home.

He gives another sigh and crosses the street to the shop, relishing in the warmth that swallows him up when he enters. The smell of cinnamon fills his nose instantly, followed up by the scent of pastries and tea.

It's decently sized and cozy feeling, with lanterns hanging from ceiling beams. In the corner is a sofa and a small table beside it. At the back is a long counter with stools set up along it. Behind it is a row of shelves stacked with fine china.

Throughout the rest of the kissaten are tables and chairs settled about. Glass pots with smaller manicured trees are placed around the corners of the shop, and in the center is a much larger assortment of greenery—a tall and slim tree that outstretched across the surface of the ceiling.

The place itself is dim despite the lanterns, the most brightened area being behind the counter.

Saihara gives a quick bow to the man behind the counter and sits down at it, dropping his head into his arms with exhaustion.

He's hungry as hell, having not been able to actually eat his _shokupan_ or _bento_. He's tired too, hoping that his uncle won't mind if he decides to sort through the cold case files another day when he has the energy.

He buries his face into the crook of his arms, resting against the counter. It's a little warmer like this, but his coat's outer side is still thawing out in the room's temperature.

Just when he feels like he might drift off to a nap from inhaling all the pastries and scents, someone knocks against the counter next to him.

He lifts up his head just enough for his eyes to see over his arm. Before he can get a good look at whoever the person is, he's immediately met with a cup of coffee being shoved towards him.

He sits up and blinks in surprise. The cup is pushed towards him even more and he moves back in his chair.

"You looked all gloomy and sad. That kinda emo-ness isn't good for business, y'know?" the stranger hums cheerfully, taking a seat on the stool beside him, "so drink up! It's a special recipe."

"Okay . . . ?" Is this safe? "Um, who are you?"

He takes the cup warily. It's warm in his hands as he inspects it first. It's topped with a foam of whip cream, two cinnamon sticks poking out through it. When he tilts the coffee around in the mug, he can see the swirls of milk inside from the glass sides.

"The name's Ouma Kokichi. Now, go on! Drink it! I promise it's not poisoned!"

Skeptically, he takes a small sip at first. It's unbelievably sweet, and he cringes for a moment—normally his coffee doesn't have much sugar or any flair to it at all. It takes him another slow swig of the drink to get used the taste, but when he does, it's actually nice. He takes another drink, this time savoring it.

"Oh, I'm also a liar."

He nearly chokes on the coffee upon hearing his words. He puts the mug back down and coughs as he swallows down the last of what he drank. "You mean it's poisoned?"

"Huuuh? You mean you couldn't taste it?"

" _No_ —!"

A few moments of involuntary panic pass by before Ouma starts to giggle, then turning into a full on laughing fit. His head drops against Saihara's shoulder as he snickers.

"I'm just kidding! I promised you it wasn't poisoned." He flashes him a big toothy grin. "C'mon, don't you believe me?"

" _No_."

Ouma lets out a dramatically pained gasp, feigning his Definitely Real Tears as he clutches his heart. "How can you be so mean? Haven't you ever heard of being kind to strangers? Hmm? Haven't you, you heartless?"

"You gave a stranger a cup of coffee and told them it was poisoned." Saihara raises an eyebrow. "I wouldn't call that kind."

"Aaaaand? Haven't you ever heard of the _other_ rule about strangers? Stranger danger! Don't accept random drinks from people you don't know. There are a lotta liars out there. You should be more careful," Ouma hums casually, his tears disappearing as quick as they came, "besides, I was being kind! I brought you that coffee after I saw you being all sad, didn't I?"

Saihara opens his mouth to object, but instead just sighs. In response, Ouma adds, "Here, I promise it really isn't poisoned! Look!"

The smaller boy reaches for the cup and turns it around in his hands, taking a quick drink to prove it. "See? See? I told you. I'm very trustworthy."

"I really doubt that." Saihara eyes the mug carefully, his face turning pink. If Ouma notices the blush on his face or his lingering gaze on the coffee, he doesn’t comment on it.

"You catch on quick! I like you already," Ouma declares, taking another sip.

"Is that a lie?"

"Do you think it is?" 

Saihara stares at the (confirmed to be not poisoned and confirmed not to be a lie) coffee. His face still feels warm, and not from the coffee. ". . . I should probably get going. It's a long walk for me."

"Great, we can walk together!" Ouma suggests, "my shift is over anyway. And don't worry about the coffee; it's on the house."

"Ah, thank you for that, but also, you don't even know where I'm walking to—?"

Ouma reaches over the counter and pulls a coat from underneath one of the shelves. He slips it on and pulls out a scarf from his pocket, wrapping it around his neck until it covers up to his nose.

"Surprise me, then."

Saihara starts to walk towards the door, shoving his hands back into his pockets. "Didn't you say something about stranger danger? It's not very smart to follow a stranger somewhere you don't even know."

"Mm, what's your name?"

"Saihara Shuichi."

"There, we're not strangers anymore! Now, come on, Saihara-chan, we have a looooong walk ahead of us!" Ouma loops his arm around Saihara's as they exit the shop.

Saihara lets out a small huff of laughter. "I guess we do."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ; shokupan ( 食パン ) — a type of bread
> 
> ; kissaten ( 喫茶店 ) — japanese for “tea-drinking shop”. kissatens usually sell sweets, tea, and coffee.
> 
> ; cinnamon = soothing warmth & stability / vanilla = strength to love.
> 
> ; sharing a drink = an indirect kiss
> 
> ; this chapter was originally named “serendipity & cinnamon” / serendipity — def. :: finding good things without looking for them.

**Author's Note:**

> ; since they don't have report cards to tell each other when their birthdays are in these types of aus, this has always been one of my fav hcs for ouma
> 
> ; "from april 4th to august 7th" — april 4th = international rat day / august 7th = last day of international clown week
> 
> ; i wrote the longest paragraph ever earlier today on why i love this boy so much. i wont put it in here because it's _too_ long haha but just know i love him v much. it's been a full year now that he's been my fav character of all time and wow, i can't believe it. i've loved him for as long as i've been in this fandom, and i hope i'll love him for another year. thank you, ouma-san, for being one of the funniest, smartest, most interesting characters in the entire series. you deserved so much better. i love you so much, more than the entire world. happy birthday, bb❤️


End file.
